Kinslayer
by softestsky
Summary: The silmarils are reclaimed, but the quest has ended in failure and death. Maedhros regrets the oath he swore so long ago.


Far below him, fire churns, and the voice is back.

 _Murderer, betrayer, kinslayer._

 _Oathbreaker, incapable of success, incapable of pleasing your father…_

Maedhros wishes it would just silence itself for just one moment. He knows that it's telling the truth. He'd thought that when he fulfilled his promise it would be gone; he'd hoped beyond hope that he could still redeem himself. But he's spent too much blood on this quest, and the stone in his left hand knows it. It burns him terribly. The light that he once found so beautiful now tortures him. It's not even the physical pain that's the worst. Maedhros knows pain. He's felt it, hanging on that cliff face and begging for death. He's dealt a fair deal of it too.

 _Kinslayer._

It's knowing that he is no longer worthy of his father's great work that causes him the most anguish. He's lost everything in search of the Silmarils, and now he's lost them too, in a way. His father's impassioned speech so long ago turned him to this path. An oath sworn in anger; Maedhros regrets it so bitterly now. But then he was young and wronged and felt nothing in this world could stop him.

How could he be so blind to Feanor's madness? Maedhros knows the answer. He was lying to himself. He's built up quite a talent for it over the years.

When Feanor led the theft of the ships of the Teleri Maedhros told himself that it was for a great purpose, and any who stood in their way knew the consequences. He repeated it to himself over and over as his sword was stained the with blood of his kin.

 _Liar._

It was the first time he'd ever killed anyone. Six unarmed Teleri, dead by his hand on that night. He used to remember their faces, but they're lost to him now, blurred into anonymity over centuries of slaughter.

 _Murderer. Monster..._

When Maedhros and his father and brothers stole away on the ships, leaving the flickering lights of the Noldo encampment to fade away into the cold and darkness behind them, Maedhros told himself that it was better this way. Faster. Feanor would send the ships back, of course. Their relatives would be fine.

 _Coward_.

When Feanor ordered the swan-ships burned, a fiery gleam in his eyes so different than the one his mother named him for, Maedhros told himself that it was all for the greater good, some grand and noble purpose. He continued to tell himself this as his father, brothers, and allies fell one by one and his list of kinslayings grew, stifling all the guilt under a facade of power and nobility. It's a funny game of pretend that he played with himself, because he knew that he was lying the whole time, yet he forced himself to believe it anyway.

Far below him, fire churns, and his armor of lies is falling away.

Only Maglor is left to him now. Maglor of music and laughter and sorrow, Maglor who cares deeply for the two half elven, Elrond and Elros whose parents they attacked. Another misdeed for the Silmarils. It hurts Maedhros to look at them together. Somehow Maglor still has kindness inside him. Somehow his heart is still whole, despite the death he has caused.

Hearts are such fragile things. Maedhros knows this. They are made of thin glass, delicate and complex, and are easily shattered, and when they break the fragments _dig_ into your insides and nothing matters anymore. The pain obliterates all else, erasing all memories of anything good or beautiful or fair.

Maedhros isn't sure exactly when his heart broke. Maybe it was a gradual process, the years chipping at the glass, until eventually he was left with only hollowness inside of him.

The doom of the Noldor consumed him. The quest for the Silmarils became everything, replacing love and trust and hope, and now it's over and nothing is better. Maedhros is still a murderer and a _betrayer_ of kin, and it's his own voice whispering insults in his head. How much blood has he paid for the _stone_ clutched in his one remaining hand? This worthless stone, a petty gem with the _light_ of a long-lost, useless world trapped inside it. It hurts so much, but he can't put down the jewel.

He has succeeded in his task yet failed his father, whom he loves and hates and still needs to please so desperately after all these years. Everything is wrong and has been for as long as he can remember. Maedhros' heart is broken, and he is ready to stop lying to himself.

There is nothing he can do. This war has been lost from the time it first began. Who was he to challenge the Valar?

 _A deluded, power hungry fool, just like your father._ And this is the final truth.

Maybe he will be forgiven, when he leaves his body and the Silmaril behind. Maybe his crimes will be pardoned when he stands before Mandos with the regrets of his broken glass heart bared for all to see. But he doubts it. Forgiveness is more than any kinslayer deserves.

Far below him, fire churns, and Maedhros falls.


End file.
